Severus Snape and the Second Chance
by DistressedParakeet
Summary: A potions accident breaks the chains of Severus Snape. What will he do with his freedom? Short drabble of two chapters, contains some profanities.
1. The Death of Severus Snape

Edit: The story had too many wows that needed to be downgraded to plain old vows. Even if the word looks... weird in my eyes.

* * *

The event that kickstarted Severus Snape's second chance at life was so utterly moronic, that, had he not been the one to benefit from it, the man formerly known as the sour bat of the Hogwarts dungeons would have blamed Harry Potter.

Well, of course the boy-who-lived-to-be-a-disgrace was in the heart of the trouble, but for once he wasn't the one who _started it._ _That_ dubious honour belonged to the Longbottom boy. And Severus himself. And, to the lesser extent, Draco Malfoy.

 _If_ Severus hadn't decided to keep his new batch of _Felix Felicis_ safely tucked to his robes.

 _If_ Draco Malfoy hadn't been so glorious as a student as to be allowed to attempt the _Draught of the Living Dead._

 _If_ Harry Potter the Cursed Child hadn't caught a case of Dragon Breath hex in the face. Even if that was admittedly both amusing to watch and a good reason to dock points from Gryffindor.

 _If_ Longbottom hadn't brewed the _Forgetfullness Potion_ so spectacularly weird. Really, last time he checked, the catastrophically clumsy excuse of a son of Alice Longbottom was in fifth, yes _fifth_ year. The potion was in the curriculum of first years! Severus was still unsure, if that buffoon had any semblance of brains at all…

But it was no matter now. All those events had combined into the perfect storm of fate.

Severus knew without even opening his eyes that he was in the hospital wing. One simply cannot be brewing potions professionally without getting their senses honed to perfection. And potions master Snape had a nose that wasn't only gigantic enough to enter a room first, he was also able to identify potions on their scent alone from the other side of said room.

Around him was an impressive collection of brews of his own making – and one antidote for the _Living Dead_. That one was made by potions mistress Estrella Beaufort, he was certain. The groundwater in Bretagne had its own unique scent after all, just like Hogwarts did have its own stench.

One reason for Severus' admittedly greasy visage was the abominable malodour that seemed to infest the water of Scotland. Not that England was any better. Or Wales. Or anything in the British Isles, to be quite frank. Nothing he had tried could cover the stink that clung on anything the foul water touched. He simply refused to drink the stuff, and even showering in it felt like torture.

Severus had resorted himself to drinking bottled sparkling water from the Alps and taking showers only once a month. And even that grated on his sensitive nose. He would have given anything to be free from it.

He would have left a long time ago to swim in waters more palatable to his senses, had he not been chained to the wills of others like a pathetic ghoul haunting some old attic.

 _If only he was free._

Thoughts of freedom from offending olfactory sensations brought Severus back to the present. He had clearly been part of a potions accident of epic proportions, and considering the antidote on his bedside table it had been quite a while that he had been under.

Of course Severus himself had a stash of antidotes readily available, but apparently they hadn't tried to ransack his personal possessions. _Good._

Estrella Beaufort didn't lend her craft for cheap either. That meant that the Headmaster – and ultimately the Order of the Phoenix – had had to spend a Hippogriffs weight in Galleons to rouse their despised agent. _Even better._

Clearly the Headmaster had had to reach his grasp beyond his normal web of control, probably because his second best potions master Slughorn had gone and hidden himself too well to be contacted this urgently. Or maybe he had been contacted, but had been able to refuse. Not everyone had a noose made of vows and allegiances around their neck after all.

Speaking of those dreadful shackles controlling his every decision…

 _Where were they?_

Severus forcefully smoothed his forehead and kept pretending to be deeply asleep while he concentrated on the corners of his consciousness, where the Unbreakable Vows and pledges of servitude and life debts usually lingered not unlike the stench of Hogwarts' putrid water.

 _Nothing._

He carefully ventured to feel his connection to the Dark Lord through his Dark Mark. Usually he wouldn't do this voluntarily because even thinking about the Mark filled his head with burning pain. Just one of the Dark Lords whims. This time, however, he was surprised.

 _The connection was not there._

Inky black eyes flew open as the Severus rose from his bed and clutched his arm like he had been bitten by a snake. He tore his sleeve up – and stared.

Where there should have been an ugly tattoo of a skull and a snake, there was unblemished skin.

 _He was free._

Severus Snape's mind was whirring in the dark hospital wing with the speed of a hurricane. The potions mishap was the only explanation, and now that he considered the combining effects, it wasn't even that improbable that this was the outcome. The potions had obviously combined when Potter had belched fire causing the other two students to douse him in flammable potions and knock him out with double body slams.

His first hypothesis was that Draco had accidentally killed him – or probably that was the effect of the _Felix_ that had shattered in his pocket when he fell. And somehow the Longbottom dunce had given the _Forgetfulness Potion_ his own brand of _idiot-savant_ treatment, and instead of wiping Severus' memories, the potion had wiped the metaphorical memories of his _bindings..._

 _Actually,_ on a second thought, maybe the potions together had just convinced the Unbreakable Vows that he was dead?

After all, all his vows and pledges had included word "to the death". Even he hadn't been stupid enough to bind his afterlife to the cause of others – even though that had almost happened a couple of times.

Occam's Razor would tell him to prefer the second hypothesis. So he would go with it.

But what to _do_ with this newfound freedom?

Should he truly join the cause of the Dark Lord and his merry band of deranged lunatics? Or should he keep helping Puppet Master Dumbledore and his Marionettes of Light? Maybe he should form a third front, a grey front, and use his knowledge to knock both players from the board and lead the magical Britain to a new, better morning without systemic prejudice and a new civil war brewing every generation?

 _As if…_

"Two weeks of detention, mister Longbottom. And two thousand points to Gryffindor", the former potions professor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry whispered, "And fuck you all equally."

Then he Disillusioned himself and left the Hospital wing with the graceful silence of a veteran double agent. Never to be found or heard of again in Britain.


	2. The Birth of Septimus Deere

It was a rare moment that Severus Tobias Snape – the recently self-retired potions professor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – felt giddy. But this was definitely one of them.

So many roads were opening before him as he evacuated himself and his few valuable possessions from the castle, apparated to his despicable house in Spinners End, made quick inventory of what to take and set the rest on fire.

Red flames danced in his black eyes as he stood safely disillusioned and watched his life burn, and he smiled. Then he apparated again, this time to Cornwall, and bombarded himself with every counter curse he knew to tracking and monitoring charms.

One Apparition later he was in Bretagne. He gave the same treatment to his little bag of earthly belongings. He repeated this procedure a couple of times – he was a spy after all.

The seventh jump landed him in Belgium, where he stashed his belongings. He set a monitoring charm on them and left. He would return and collect them. Probably.

Maybe.

Someday.

One jump, few charms, _Polyjuice_ and a broken wand later a tired nondescript-looking sandy haired woman rose on a plane set to Thailand and took a comfortable sitting position. She requested a glass of champagne and confided in her seat partner that she had recently gotten away from an abusive relationship. The bonds of sisterhood grew between the two witches, as the matronly one took the celebrating one under her wing and told her everything about the magical side of Bangkok.

The sisterhood ended as they departed the plane in a discreet, wandless _Obliviate._ The sandy-haired survivor of abuse disappeared to the booming metropolis without a trace.

 _Who shall I be?_ Man formerly known as Severus Tobias Snape pondered while he wandlessly Summoned a small amount baths from the pockets of every drunk tourist he walked past. They certainly wouldn't miss the coins that he needed to start his life again.

 _John? No, I would never know when someone called me. Tobias? A resounding NO, for reasons best forgotten. Septimus? A bit predictable, yes. But at least it is close enough that I would react instinctively if someone called me that. But a man needs a surname._

As if heavens, or rather _Felix Felicis_ had heard his pondering and decided to give guidance, he saw a particularly sloshed Englishman with a John Deere cap. _Jackpot._

Couple hours later one Septimus Deere walked into a wandshop and requested a wand, for someone had stolen his when he had gotten a little too deep into his cups last night. _It was a heirloom of my grandmothers',_ the Englishman had explained to the wandsmith, _It never accepted me, hopefully it now has a better match._

Septimus had found the water of Thailand pleasant and had spent many an enjoyable afternoons in the sea. He had been travelling on both muggle and magical means, and had begun thinking about settling down, when he felt the last drop of _Felix_ give him a sign.

Da Magpy Nest. A bar, in a reputable area. Looking for a new bartender. With chances of becoming an owner, when the current one would move to Finland with her beau.

Grammatical errors aside, this looked promising. Septimus felt the beginnings of a smile tugging his lips while he walked to meet his new destiny.

* * *

 _Years later_

"And that's why I left England. Let those cocksuckers die and take their blood purity with them!" Harry Potter, a very drunk hero slurred and accepted another mojito. The bar owner, one Septimus Deere, nodded.

"On hell of a story, mate", he sympathised, "I for damn sure would not want to trade places with you."

"You know, for years I wished I could do the same stunt as my old potions professor and just …disappear. _Poof_ , gone, just like that. He always called me a dunderhead, among other things, and I have to say that in some parts he was right. I am way too stubborn to just let go and leave even when I would be better off", Harry admitted, "But, you know, I had to see it through. I thought my parents would have wanted that. And that they needed me. Now I realize I was just manipulated by everyone. Even Ginny…"

The man behind the bar offered some encouraging words while Harry took deep breaths to calm himself and took big gulps of his tenth mojito.

After a few moments the younger man had gotten himself out of dark memories, and continued: "I should have left earlier, really. But I couldn't, because of all the vows and promises I had made. But now it's over. I'm free as a goddamn bird! And that calls for a toast!"

An almost empty glass of mojito filled with ice was lifted boisterously to the skies and a drunken screech of "To freedom!" startled the other patrons of the bar. They watched amused as the tourist who had occupied the bar stool for the better part of the evening tried to sloppily take sip, only to pour ice on himself.

"To freedom", the bar owner agreed and watched the saviour of magical Britain sink under the table. Luckily to the drunk Englishman he had some spare rooms currently empty that he liked to rent to tourists.

Septimus Deere, the illustrious owner of Da Magpy Nest smiled to himself and downed his cola before levitating the snoring Man-Who-Conquered to an empty room, adding some monitoring charms to make sure nothing untoward would happen to the hammered guest. Then he returned to his place behind the counter and apologized his other patrons for the distraction.

"Some people", he calmly explained, "Just need more liqueur than their livers can handle. A round on me, dear friends. To freedom we all crave and deserve. To second chances and drunk Englishmen!"

Septimus Deere poured and raised glasses with his patrons with an easy smile that had appeared on his face when he had invented his life over.

He definitely liked this version better.


End file.
